When things return to ...a weird version of 'normal'

Who: Draco and BlaiseWhy: As if a journal entry like -that- could go unexcused. Two avoidance-boys have to be non-avoid-y. When: Now-ishWhat: Blaise decides to cut, Draco decides to give him a lecture on self-pity, and the idiots make up.Rating: PG-13. For language only. *gloats*

It was all going wrong again. Everything was going wrong again. In the time that he had gone off and left them all alone... Draco had improved, Theodore had been on the mend... and now he and Draco were avoiding eachother at all costs, and Theodore was falling down all over again. And it was all his fault. It was a difficult weight to carry on one's shoulders, knowing the two people that you loved were suffering because of you. He felt as if he would be crushed.... and so he was attempting to aleviate that tension the only way he knew how. By sitting on his bed, shirt off, knife in hand, dragging the blade rather deeply across his arm.

Draco had carefully planned his itinery each day, spending a large part of each day working out how he could avoid both Potter, Nott and Zabini, so as not to get lynched by any of the three. Sleep was always a high priority, but one that could be solved with coffee, and skipping lessons he was doing reasonably well in. And right this minute, while the rest of the poor prats studied hard at Defence Against the Dark Arts, he was heading up the stairs to the dormitory, to sleep for an hour.

Unfortuanately for Draco, Blaise had a penchant for skipping classes. Passing the year was looking less and less like a possibility. He let off a hiss of pain as he watched the blood well to the surface, the cut having just begun, but now being several inches long before he started another, a couple inches to the right and parallel to it.

As Draco opened the door, slinging the bag of books carelessly from his shoulder to his hand, the sight before his eyes sent the books flying to the floor. Blaise. Sitting, carefully un-doing every little bit of good Potter had done him, that Blaise had done himself. Furiously angry, face white and set, he marched over to the bed, snatched the knife and hurled it away. "You sodding idiot," he snarled, "What the fuck are you doing?" It was a choice between confrontation, or ...running away. And Draco had come to the conclusion that inevitably, he was a Malfoy. And being a Malfoy required a certain amount of pride.

Blaise hadn't even noticed what was happening until all at once the knife was gone from his hand and he was being yelled at. Narrowed eyes focused up on Draco. "What the fuck does it look like I'm doing?" he growled.

"It looks," Draco said, as calmly as it is possible to speak, when one is in a white-hot temper, "As if you're being a prat. And skipping class. To do so. I don't really need to ask what you're doing. The question is why?" he demanded, folding his arms tightly across his chest.

"Because everything's bloody well falling apart," Blaise snapped, blood running freely down his arm and dripping across his bedsheets.

Draco sighed heavily, debating whether knocking Blaise unconscious would solve either of their problems. Quickly deciding that it wouldn't, he settled for scowling at him. "Exactly how?" he asked, his jaw set. "And anything that falls apart is not enough for this. This is likely to end with you in one of three places. Dead, sick or anemic. Neither of which particularly send me through the rafters, nor I suppose, yourself."

"And yes, being in two of those three places would be ever such a new experience for me," Blaise snapped, still glaring daggers at Draco. "You've no right to judge me, or to expect anything of me. This is partially your fucking fault.:"

"It's not about new sodding experiences," Draco glowered right back at him, too annoyed to feign anything remotely resembling 'calm' or 'tranquility'. Neither expressions could really be applied to him anyway. "It's about going through it again. I have every right to expect things of you," he added, as if it were perfectly reasonable. "One, you're a member of my house, and I'm a Prefect. Two, I don't know if you're still on it, but if you are, you're on my sodding team and I want to win. Three, if you're sick, then that's three Slytherins who are out of it. I'm well aware it's my fucking fault, Blaise, and if I could do anything, I sodding well would." The words were ground out, with some measure of snappish anger.

"Just leave me alone, Draco," Blaise growled, getting up from his bed and making his way over to where the knife had been thrown, not caring that Draco probably would stop him. It didn't really matter. This wasn't being made any better by standing there fighting.

"I can't," Draco stated flatly. "I've been doing that for rather a few days. It's driven me crazy, and I seem to have contributed to this. And if you think you're getting that back, you've got another bloody think coming. Accio knife," he flicked his wand with some degree of cold satisfaction, as the knife flew smoothly toward him.

Blaise turned to glare at Draco all over again. "Fine, you have my knife, so I can't do anything. So just leave me the hell alone, will you?" Of course... he had another knife. He always had another knife. He just generally didn't make that known to most.

"No," Draco said guardedly, a hooded look slipping over his face. This was neither the time, nor the place to think about himself. "Oh, Zabini, you twit. There's a sodding Cause I'm supposed to be devoting my little black heart to, and I'm not entirely happy about missing sleep to fight over whether I'm leaving you alone or not." Well, he had always had a small problem with the size of his ego. "Suffice to say, you've cut yourself. Which means you've shoved out the bloody boat, and jumped in. You fucking idiot, where the hell do you get off doing this to yourself?" If pity hadn't worked - if getting angry didn't work, then maybe.. "If you're going to reduce to a bleeding little mass of self-pity every time the world kicks out at you, every time someone else decides to be selfish in an unguarded moment, then I don't know why I..people sodding well love you. You've just ruined Potter's good work. You've ruined your own work."

"What else am I supposed to fucking do?" Blaise demanded, not catching on that he was being guilt tripped."You're messing with my head all over again, I haven't seen Harry for ages... Theodore's back and he's falling apart again because of me... I'm failing practically all my classes, and it's hard enough just getting up in the fucking morning. You're bloody lucky I was just cutting to cut and not to kill myself."

"If you were," Draco said evenly, "You'd be lying flat on your back, Petrified, and being charmed up to the Hospital Wing, to be observed by Madam Pomfrey and not let within an inch of a knife for weeks. In fact, I'm not half convinced that's not a good idea." He looked thoughtful for a moment, then dismissed it. If Blaise got too out of hand, he'd try it. "The reason you're failing classes is because you're skipping them. That's another sodding reason to stay together. Slytherin pride demands it. I will not have Slytherins fail to Hufflepuffs in exams." He looked outraged. "If you haven't seen Harry, then you bloody well should, and Theodore - Oh bloody Christ, Mary and Joseph." He rolled his eyes expressively. "I don't need this," he told the ceiling, determinedly. "I really don't. I'm not playing head-games, you idiot, I wouldn't put myself through the mess that results. Oh Gods, I only wanted half an hour's nap, and a gloat over the Quidditch passes I've come up with. If I'd known that falling in love with you was this bloody difficult, then I wouldn't have done it." He glanced at Blaise. "It's all your fault, you realise. You made me do it."

Oh no he didn't. He couldn't believe Draco had just said that. Still glaring, he approached Draco, letting his hand fly. Initially he had intended to cuff him... but had changed his mind and simply slapped him hard across the face. It would still get his point across, without causing further bloodshed. He still loved Draco, after all. "You have no fucking right to blame this on me," he hissed, leaning in and snatching Draco by the hair, forcing their faces within inches of one another. "I don't give a fuck about Slytherin pride right now, and I really don't give a fuck about your damned quidditch passes. I'm trying to keep myself from falling into a mumbling mass who refuses to leave the corner. You have no fucking idea what's going on in my head right now. And if you did, you would probably be trying to get the thoughts to stop as adamently as I am. So don't you fucking dare try to peg this on me."

"Ouch," Draco said mildly, pleased he'd managed to get Blaise past self-pity, and into nastiness. However, being slapped was not something he was happy with. "Actually, I was commenting on the fact that you're bloody loveable. Even when you're being an idiot. Like now, for instance," he said, with something akin to real affection in his voice. "Mumbling mass who refuses to leave the corner? Come on, Blaise. I know I have no idea what's going through your head - Circe love me, but that might just be traumatic," he shuddered dramatically, "But if my idiocy can be remedied in any way, I've been -attempting- to help you. I have been through mental breakdown rather recently. Now if you'd mind releasing my hair, which I'm rather attached to, then we can have the civilised conversation we've both been avoiding, because for some completely ridiculous reason, whenever I'm around you, I lose all semblance of control. You can rail and rant all you want, I promise," he added comfortingly, "Just release the hair."

Just by way of punishment, Blaise gave Draco's hair a harsh yank, using it to push him away from Blaise, who then spun and set to pacing. He wouldn't get his knife back... but now things in his head were even more confused. Draco really did care for him? It was hard to say... but Draco had just let him hit him with no real retaliation. That in itself was saying something. With a lost little whimper, he started digging his nails into the cuts he had created.

"Stop it," Draco stated, "Or I stop playing nice." He looked at Blaise, his blue eyes steady. "I am seriously considering body-binding you, and making you sit on that bed, and talk. Hurting yourself is not going to make this go away, or make it better." Why, oh why had he come here? DADA wasn't quite as bad as Arithmancy in boredom stakes, and he was doing equally well in it. Admittedly, not as well as the muggleborn, but he'd long past secretly admitted that he'd never surpass her.

"Bugger off," snapped Blaise, continuing to pace, continuing to claw at the cuts, making them bleed more thoroughly, managing to cause little gashes that stem from the initial wounds.

"I'm not going to," Draco stated, candidly, the blood making him somewhat edgy. He was tempted to go over there and forcibly stop Blaise...but they both knew how well that had ended up. "And you can't make me," he added, with a toss of his head. "Stop it, or I will have to body bind you," he complained, hoping that a semi-temper tantrum would help, but only half-heartedly. "I have to carry out my promises now. And I really can't stand here and watch you do that. Civilised conversation, or -" he gestured with his wand. "You end up stiff as a board."

As much as Blaise's fingers remained clawed, he stopped pulling at the wound, just holding his hand there. He looked at Draco edgily, like a caged animal, knowing full well that threat would be followed through on. Closing his eyes, he turned his head away, holding the arm out. "Cover it... bandage it... fucking do something so if I pick at it it doesn't get any worse."

Without a word, Draco stepped forward, and whispered a quick healing charm, before roughly tearing off the edge of the nearest sheet - it happened to be Goyle's, but the idiot wouldn't notice - and binding it tightly around Blaise's arm. He stepped back carefully, and tucked his wand back inside his robes. "That's better," he said, mildly.

Blaise shuddered, even as he started scratching at the sheet on his arm. Better that than the actual skin. "Now what the fuck do you want?" he demanded, refusing to look Draco in the face.

Draco sighed dramatically again and gazed at the ceiling once more. “Oh, just a few things. Sleep and the Dark Lord kicked to hell and back rate among the first of them. Not to be making a prat of myself over you,” he added in a muttered undertone. He smiled brightly at Blaise, and narrowed his eyes. “Actually, I didn’t want much. Right now, to know I can walk around knowing you’re somewhat…well, safe doesn’t really work at this moment in time,” he re-considered, and shook his head ruefully. “At least to know that I don’t have to hex you unconscious before I leave you alone. To clear up this little matter about head-games and so on.”

He seated himself on the edge of the nearest bed, and inspected his fingernails. “Bloody hell,” he said as if to himself, “I seem to have half the Quidditch pitch under my nails. Oh well, something to rectify later.” Studiously not looking at Blaise, he allowed the careless, arrogant airy attitude to slip somewhat, but still masking his own feelings to make it easier for the other.

“I don’t play headgames anymore,” he said calmly. “Particularly not with you. I said something I meant. I love you. Whether or not you want me to, is beside the point. Rather your turn to rebel against it, anyway. But it doesn’t stop it being.” He scooted a little back, to kick off his shoes, and stretched out on Goyle’s bed with a blissful sigh. “Ah, bed. The wonders of a soft pillow. Furthermore, why would I bother?” He turned his head to look at Blaise, a look of some bewilderment in his eyes. “I’d have my arse kicked, I’m not exactly surrounded by allies anyway, and it’s not like it’s hard to mess you up. Hardly a challenge for an evil mastermind like myself.” He folded his arms behind himself, rather enjoying his opportunity to speak. “No, it must be, you know, that I actually do love you.” He feigned shock. “Hm. I really wonder why I bother. You are immensely attractive, I have spent the better part of two years sobbing into your shoulder – figuratively, of course. And there’s the little things.” His voice softened almost imperceptibly. “But I needn’t bore you with them. I can just think about them all by myself.”

Midway through Draco's rather impressive speach, Blaise sank down to his knees. By the time he was done, bloody hands were covering his face, hunched over. It hurt to hear, to believe, knowing full well how badly Draco had hurt him the last time those words had been uttered to him. It had ruined his life... done so much damage that he still hadn't recovered. And now... now he wanted to believe. He wanted to hear those words from the boy he loved and to believe that they were the truth. But everytime that he did, he remembered the last time, making him want to tear his flesh from his bones to get that image out.

"How can I believe that?" he whispered somewhat hoarsely. "How can I believe you aren't playing with me... that you mean it. You've lied to me before.... hurt me so much the last time..."

"I know," Draco nodded, really really wanting to give in to the appalling desire to fall apart, and howl his apologies. But that wouldn't be helpful. And the iron grip on his emotions this moment in time was rather helping things. At least he wouldn't end up doing things he didn't -want- to do. "And I was an utter, utter bastard. But I didn't lie." He folded his legs up, Indian-style, and propped his chin on his fists, watching Blaise with an unreadable look in his silvery eyes. "You think I'd have wanted to hurt you that badly if I didn't love you? Seeing you drenched in -him-," his lips curled a bit at the memory, and he bit it back, the derision carefully held away. "I snapped. I wasn't exactly sane. I wasn't for a while. I am now. But I wouldn't be this crazy over you if I didn't love you. I notice things, you see. And there's memories." He sounded detached, but there was a strangled note in his voice. "There's a freckle behind your ear. It's a very nice freckle." It was entirely random, but entirely in keeping. It was one of a hundred memories of Blaise that Draco knew.

Blaise let off another soft whimper at Draco's final statement. He knew that Draco knew him better than anyone else, and that was just another one of those little things. "I love you," he choked out, not really able to get any other words out beyond his throat. He loved Theodore too... but he loved Draco, and had for so very long. To hear it returned... hope welled up inside of him. Draco had kept him stable for so long... had kept him sane for two years, had been the strength behind him for over a year when they were together. His driving force...

"And I love you." The statement was entirely matter-of-fact, and Draco entwined his fingers together, before resting them in his lap. "Which means I'm not standing for this." He tossed a look at the knife lying beside him on the bed, and flicked his eyes back up to Blaise's. "I can't. I refuse to allow it." A brief flash in his eyes of an emotion - hopelessness, love, and desperation, before they were as opaque as before. "I can quote daft Shakespeare, if you want," he offered, half-heartedly. "But I hardly think it's necessary."

Blaise just shook his head, finally letting his hands drop. Streaks of blood were left over his left eye and cheek from the bloodied hand, and tears were starting to run down and leave streaks through it. "Come here?" he asked softly, pathetic loss in his voice, not even trying to hide his emotion.

Draco moved quicker than he thought possible, arms around Blaise, cheek pressed against Blaise's own, and his mouth kissing away the tears. "You can't cry every time I tell you I love you," he said, very firmly, his embrace tightening. "Because that will get ridiculous. I don't plan on stopping."

Blaise's arms went rapidly around Draco and he clung to the blonde, eyes closing tightly in an attempt to fight back the tears that so insistantly continued to fall. "I don't know if I can go through this again," he whispered, trembling slightly in Draco's embrace.

"You won't," Draco mumured, somewhere in the region of his ear, shivering at the feeling of Blaise's tremors, and carefully holding him close. "Because I won't let you. Sod everything else, I say it can't happen," he decided, and kissed Blaise's cheek again, dropping a thousand tiny kisses against the boy's jawline.

Blaise only shook harder at that, knuckles going white as he grasped at Draco's robes. "I can't just get over what I need... I can't help it... it never went away, even with help, even when I fought not to... it never went away, Draco... I need you and I love you but I don't know if I can be with you because everything hurts... and when it hurts I need physical hurt to make it go away..."

"Yes," Draco said, softly, as if he understood, which he didn't, but reassuring Blaise was all that he needed at this minute, and there was knowing, that Blaise needed that. "And it's handleable. I can't stand seeing you hurt because of me," he said fiercely, running his fingers over the rough bandage on Blaise's arm, "But if it's other.." His breath fogged warm against the other's skin, feeling Blaise's body move with his own breathing. "Then I can help."

Blaise's eyelids fluttered against Draco's throat, eyelashes brushing softly along his flesh as his head slowly drew back, gaze searching as he looked at Draco for a long moment. His hand then rose to tangle firmly in Draco's hair, as it had before, though this time to pull it forward and crush their lips together almost desperately.

Draco's mouth opened underneath Blaise's, the feeling of warmth and desire, and the salty tang of Blaise's tears on his lips mingling with the taste of Blaise himself. He held the other boy securely, arms wrapped around his waist, posessive, and caring in one muddled bundle. The tug in his hair made him moan softly, and his eyes closed, kissing the other with fierce desire to prove it, mingle love with his kiss.

Blaise rapidly slowed down once their lips were together, kissing more tenderly, affecionately, though with an underlying desire for something he just couldn't name. He felt better in Draco's arms, that much was for certain, and the shaking started to progressively subside as they kissed, tongue darting out for brief tastes of what always had been Draco, of a taste that he knew so well and served to comfort him that much more.

He felt the change in tempo, sensed it in the movement of Blaise's body, and the gentleness of his kisses, and slowed himself, breaking it, and catching at Blaise's lips again, the softness of it all something unusual and alien to him, but good, and right, and different in an odd way. He brushed Blaise's hair back from his ear, and kissed him just below it, threaded his fingers through the locks and kissed him again, trying to obliviate bad memories with good.

Blaise's eyes opened slowly to gaze over Draco's face, though only opened partway, hooded contently as the blonde's lips continued to brush over his own, then back just below his ear... then lips once more. No longer pulling at Draco's hair, he instead stroked through it, adoring this new tenderness he had never recieved from Draco when they had been together. This wasn't about lust, or about passion... but about affection. It was new, but certainly enjoyable in it's own way.

"You know what," Draco muttered, brushing the underside of Blaise's chin with a featherlight kiss, not really able to decide where he wanted to kiss next, "You're bloody addictive." He pulled back, not really liking the detachment, but necessary because he wanted to see Blaise properly, his own gaze mottled with affection, gentle amusement, and wanting. "And I love you."

Blaise moaned softly, gazing back at Draco. "I love you too," he whispered, leaning in to brush his nose softly along the blonde's cheek. It was besides the fact that his cheeks were somewhat tearstreaked... and covered in blood... and his arm was still cut open and bandaged, or that they were sitting on the floor... Somehow he had forgotten that part. Everything in his mind was just the beautiful blonde who was holding him close, who loved him.

"Good," Draco said, very definitely, sliding a kiss against his cheek, "Because if you didn't, I'd go crazy. For one thing, I'd murder whatever stopped you. And then I'd have to convince you to love me back." He pressed a soft, closed-mouth kiss against Blaise's lips. "I'm very loveable," he promised.

It was impossible to stop his lips from quirking at the corners at Draco's statement, smiling just slightly, resting his cheek on the blonde's shoulder. "I've loved you for nearly two years, Draco. I know all about how lovable you are."

"Good," Draco said again, the delicious pressure of knowing Blaise's head was firmly tucked against his side, and nestling into it. "I'm just saying, for the record, how unutterably loveable I am. Even if I am an arrogant bastard," he added musingly. "It's all part of my charm." He kissed Blaise's hair, arm going dead from lack of movement, but not caring in the slightest.

It felt so good to be in this position again... Blaise hadn't realized how much he had missed it. "Nap?" he offered quietly. "After all... that's why you came here in the first place, and I'm kinda tired..." Likely from the fact there were drops of his blood all over the place.

"Yes," Draco answered, rising reluctantly, and rubbing his spine. "And ow. Beds are much more comfortable than floors. Why you prefer to curl up on stone is beyond me," he complained, tugging Blaise up, and back with him, with a perfunctory glance at Goyle's ripped sheets, and Blaise's blood-stained ones, before seating himself on his own bed, and pulling Blaise imperiously toward it himself. "And I'm sleepy," he moaned, yawning. "I haven't slept in hours."

"Then let's sleep..." Blaise followed along to wherever Draco took him, having no intention on napping alone. He just wanted to be held... and Draco clearly wished to hold him, so it would all work out.

"What did you think I was suggesting?" Draco demanded, the commanding tone back in his voice, but his grip tight on Blaise's hand. "I'm certainly too shattered to think of anything else. My god, Blaise, you've killed any chance of me thinking about Quidditch passes," he realised, shifting over to make room for him, arms settling around his waist comfortably. "Which I really need to do at some point."

Yawning softly, Blaise nestled in against Draco's protective embrace, burrowing his head in against his neck once more. "After sleep," he mumbled, draping an arm around his lover.

"Of course," Draco mumured back, closing his eyes, and falling asleep almost instantly. How could one do anything else, when all was right with the world for once?